


The Circus Boy

by Query_Quinzel



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Murder, Other, sane!jerome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7105768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Query_Quinzel/pseuds/Query_Quinzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Jerome Valeska pulls the abuse card to get away with murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Circus Boy

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING:
> 
> If you find blood, use of drugs or mentions of abuse triggering then this one isn't for you.
> 
> Also this is inspired by Tumblr users:
> 
> @heybuddywhat   
> @andwefaeries 
> 
> And Gotham S1E16 'The Blind Fortune Teller'

"She's my Mother. What can I say? I love her. She's perfect. Not a very good cook, except for that."

"Did she have any enemies? Someone with a grudge?"

"No."

"Boyfriends?"

"No."

"No?"

"She had lovers. Sex partners, really, but not Boyfriends. She didn't want the commitment."

"Alfonso Grace?"

"Yes, he was one of them."

"Owen Lloyd?"

"Yes."

"Any others?"

"Uh, not that I could put a name to."

"How did you feel about your mother's love life?"

"I feel fine about it. If not for my mothers love life I wouldn't be here, would I? Sex is a healthy human activity."

"Yes it is. Do you have any other family?"

"The circus is my family..."

-

Walking out of the interrogation office was easy. Looking around at the people I had spent 18 years of my life with was harder. Someone here was going to be framed for a murder I committed. Hmm, better them than me, I guess. A huge metal cage containing a burly bald man and a pathetic looking old hobo stood to my left. Look at these bastards. Dumb enough to get caught and locked up like animals. In that moment I made a promise to myself that I would never be trapped in a cell for the rest of my days. 

I took a seat in the far corner of the room just behind the cell, resting my tired legs. Numerous people walked past, not paying any attention to the mass of colourful citizens scattered around the Police Department but instead carrying on with their jobs as if this whole charade was a daily occurrence rather than a comical prank. If this wasn't concerning anyone I guess Gotham really is as crazy as they say.

Resting my head against the wall behind me and fidgeting with my hands, I noticed a figure walk towards me. I could tell who it was just from the steady walking pace and the sound of shoes hitting the concrete floor. Paul Cicero. The old man himself. God what a drag it was talking to him, his metallic voice drove me crazy. It was the damn man's fault I was in this situation anyway.

"You can't tell them it was you, Jerome. They don't suspect a thing."

"I have to. They'll find out and then I'll serve even longer."

"I have a plan, Jerome. One that will get you out of this dilemma." He looked towards me. Despite not being able to see where I was, I felt the icy chill of his tone clinging to my spine. "That's what you want isn't it?"

-

She comes towards me for the third time tonight, one hand holding a bottle, the other a cigarette, her words slurring as she stammered through the caravan door, no one following behind her for the first time this week. I hear her mutter my name under her breath as she leans forward to grab a half empty glass from her bedroom table, putting out her fag in the process.

"You." As bony finger points at me, her eyes fuming with disinterest. "Get out. It's all your fault."

I stare at her in utter bewilderment. Before she grabs my arm tightly and I shrug away. She hits me, grazing the corner of my eye although not enough to leave a bruise hopefully. 

"Mom, you're drunk again." I grab her shoulders, sitting her down on the bed. 

"Shut the Hell up, Jerome. You are nothing but a burden." My hand reaches underneath the pillow, grabbing the handle of a weapon. "You always have been." I pull it up, behind her back. "Since you were a kid."

"Mom, listen to me. I'm gonna need you to shut the fuck up."

The hatchet, I'd previously stolen from a toolbox I found in the circus centre, was now behind my back, my mother too drunk to notice.

"Don't speak to me like that, little boy, I'll knock you -"

"You" I swing the hatchet towards her, "fucking" It hits her, "whore!" Right in the neck. For a second, a look of dishonour washes over me before I notice... I enjoyed it. I swing again, words of profanities becoming verbalised. I swing again. And again. And again.

Her blood is everywhere. The sheets are stained and she's bleeding out before my eyes. I grab for the glass that is spilling alcohol and drink the last remaining liquid.

I think to myself about how I should feel guilty. Then I realise: I don't feel anything.

I hear a knock at the door. For a second my heart stops as I panic, wondering what I do now. But then I hear a voice.

"Jerome?"

I cautiously opened the door.

"Mr. Cicero. Can I help you?"

"I heard everything."

-

The crazy old fool was right. I wanted badly to not get caught but I'm not much of a dreamer and rather an idealist. I know that Jim is suspecting it wasn't either of the Heads of the Families. They were going to find out it was me whether it was ten days down the line or ten minutes.

I sprang up almost instantly, raging with anger. Sprinting into the interrogation office, I saw Mr. Gordon.

"Jerome?"

"I did it. I killed my Mother."


End file.
